Never Cage a Bird
by not-a-walrus
Summary: Draft cards burn, joints are lit, kisses are shared, and roads are explored as nineteen year-old Andy teeters on the edge of freedom and conformity. She realizes that the times are a-changing, and she's taking Sodapop Curtis along for the ride.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders._

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**Never Cage a Bird**

I've always wondered what it'd be like to be freed after being captured in a cage your entire life. Why do pet birds fly away? Because it was their first chance of freedom and they took it? What was it like to be relinquished of your norms and live outside of society? It seemed like it would be scary. You're used to living in cage your whole life and suddenly you have the whole world to fly around. Was it liberating like everyone else claimed it to be, or was it something else?

I was always the caged Bird, not afraid to see what was out there but afraid to take that first flight into it. Because once you're freed, you're free forever, and cages will always be too small for you afterwards.

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_A/N: Short, I know, but I wanted this prologue separate from the first chapter. Luckily (or unluckily?) for ya'll, Chapter One is up, too!_

_Please review if you can. _


	2. Chapter One

_Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns all rights to The Outsiders. _

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**Chapter One**

Breathing is hard when you've got a boy sprawled out on top of you. Giggling at the nonsense he's whispering in your ear and being tickled by his breath on your exposed skin makes breathing even harder when he's where he is. There's nothing sexual about it really, because you can't feel anything moving in his pants and his heart and your heart are both beating at a normal pace, but it's still a nice feeling … even though you can hardly breathe. I mean, I enjoyed it.

Izzy said he didn't see how being laid on was comfortable when the person lying on you was twenty pounds heavier than you, but I really didn't mind so much. Soda had this way of not lying completely on me and tucking his one arm under mine so that his full weight wasn't on me. Heck, even if Soda did put his full weight on me, I don't think I would have cared. Even I died from suffocation, I'd be okay with it.

Maybe that was just me getting stoned off his scent. I don't think I'd ever like to die, really, but I guess if I had to die by being crushed by a hunk like Sodapop Curtis, it'd at least be an interesting story that my brothers could tell to their kids.

Your-aunt-died-by-being-laid-on-by-this-guy-she-used-to-go-with.

I could see them now. Birdie's kids would have the same blond mop on their heads as he does now, and their tanned faces would be full of laughter just like his. Izzy's kids would be the exact opposite of his doped up ways, with their hair combed to the side, nice and neat. The girls would wear proper dresses and the boys would wear collared shirts, so that they know how to act when the time is right and can break free when they so choose to. Izzy had it all planned out. Said that was how it worked out—with irony—so he might as well make it happen.

"Quit lying all over my sister when you aren't even going steady."

I groaned, my face heating up in embarrassment as Soda rolled off of me. "_Iz-_zy!"

Soda chuckled and pushed me playfully as he sat up. We'd been sort of seeing each other for a few weeks now. I'd met him through my younger brother when Birdie decided he wanted to take me over to the drag strips one night. I had a beer in my hand; Sodapop didn't. I remember I thought he was already three sheets to the wind and worried myself senseless when he got into the driver's seat one of the many souped up cars. I later found out he was stone cold sober. That was after he blew the doors off the car he was racing, and I forgot I'd even been worried in the first place. I tend to do that when I'm soused—forget things, I mean.

I didn't see him again until he came into the bookstore I work at with his kid brother about a month later, and even then we just barely had a conversation.

"Yer Birdie's sister, ain't you?"

I took the book from his brother and rang it up. "Yeah. You're Sodapop, right?"

He grinned, and then I grinned, and then I awkwardly told them how much it was, and then his brother handed me the money. That was it.

Soda and I were leaning against the couch when Izzy came back out of the kitchen with a bowl of cereal, shirtless, and wiping milk off his chin. "What're ya'll watchin'?"

"Birdman," I answered and closed my eyes as Soda absentmindedly played with my hair.

"Ain't that a kids show?"

"Yep."

Izzy came around and sat on the sofa, careful not to spill anything, and relaxed. He did this every Saturday morning. I guess he really didn't have much of a choice when he worked all week and then bartended on weekend nights for extra money. He wanted out of this tiny apartment and into his own, but I didn't see that happening anytime soon really since our dad was having a real tough time with the bills ever since the divorce.

Mom still sent Birdie a few dollars here and there, but that was because he was the baby of the family and I was almost nineteen now. He'd always be her little Duncan, but she wanted to do what she had to give up when my parents first had Izzy. She wanted to be a photographer. So off she went with some real gone cat to do just that, leaving us with a dad that was always working. I kind of envied her.

Soda turned to me. "Feel like getting out of here, Andy? Like down to the Ribbon or something?"

I ran my fingers through my hair and shook out my waves, smiling. "Sure.

Soda stood up and pulled me to my feet. "We're cuttin' out, Izzy."

He gave me one of those looks he always gives whenever someone points out the obvious. "I heard," he said, and then turned back to the TV as he shoved another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

XX

"So let me get this straight. You're named after the Queen that liked cake, and have brothers named Izzy and Birdie?" The boy that I had just come to know as Two-Bit Mathews sat before me with a comical grin slapped on his dumbfounded face, eyebrow cocked.

I giggled. "Basically." It was kind of odd to be asked about my name since no one ever really did, but from what Soda had told me about Two-Bit before, I had to guess this was just the way he acted—like a complete ditz with a goofy smile. I was in fact named after Marie Antoinette, but that was because my mom craved cake when she was pregnant with me and Dad thought he was being funny by saying, "Let them eat cake!" every time he brought her a slice.

"Ain't Birdie a movie or somethin'?"

"Yeah."

Two-Bit slapped the table suddenly and looked Soda in the eye. "Wellup, I think it's safe to say that there's finally a set of parents out there as weird as yours were, Soda."

"Sometimes you're thicker than a five dollar malt, Two-Bit." Soda blew a straw wrapper at him and chuckled. "They're nicknames."

Two-Bit threw the wrapper back at him. "Tough luck for you then," he said and turned back to me. "So, your highness, what's the story? Your brothers as _groovy_ as you?"

I paused. I wasn't sure if he was hitting on me or making a comment about how I looked. Based on the way Soda reached over and started a slap-fight with him, though, I guessed it was the latter.

"I ain't never seen Soda with a hippie broad before, but it would explain why's he ain't been as greasy lately."

I opened my mouth to protest but closed it a second later and vaguely listened in as Soda and Two-Bit teased each other.

"Ain't my fault you seem to have overlooked everything around you," Soda said.

Two-Bit slickly ran his palm over the side of his hair, looking cockier than I than I thought possible with a grin like his. "You're just jealous of my classic good looks."

They went on, but I quit paying attention.

I wasn't exactly sure what I was. I definitely bought into hippie lifestyle, but I wasn't one hundred percent into it. My friends Randy and Mary were really into it. They went around in the van and tripped a lot, and they were always smoking grass. I was all for getting stoned and blitzed, but if you wanted to know the honest truth, protests and LSD scared the shit outta me. I liked to be in control.

That was kind of why I envied my mother. She wandered around wherever she wanted to, with a guy she didn't have to stay with, and she didn't have put on any appearances or stay for any reasons. She could just leave. When things got bad or boring, she could just leave. She controlled her life now; no one else.

Some girl plopped down next to Two-Bit and gave him a long kiss. "Hey," she said, not bothering to even acknowledge Soda and I.

Soda cleared his throat and grinned widely, tipping an imaginary hat. "Afternoon, Sarah."

She forced a smile at him. "Sodapop." Then she looked at me in disdain, sat back, and blew her bangs out of her eyes. "Who's the chick?"

Two-Bit slung an arm around her shoulder comfortably. "Her majesty, Marie Antoinette, at your service."

I smiled. "I go by Andy."

Sarah twirled a piece of hair with her finger and studied me for a moment. "What's your last name?"

My head jerked back slightly out of confusion. "… Bird," I answered slowly.

"You're Birdie's sis, ain't you?"

Well, that made her question make more sense, I guess. Birdie was always out and about meeting people. "Yeah."

She smiled genuinely for the first time since she'd sat down. "I thought you looked familiar."

"You know the moviestar?" Two-Bit joked, making Sarah roll her eyes good-naturedly at him.

"He's in my math class."

Two-Bit shook his head. "Ya'll gotta be makin' him up. I've never met no Birdie in my life, but here you go telling me he's in your math class,"—he motioned to me—"and you go telling me he's your brother,"—he waved his hand at Soda—"and you go telling me that he shows up at the drag strip a lot. Ya'll are messin' with me, aren't ya?"

Soda laughed. "Maybe 'f you weren't so soused and pickin' fights while you're there all the time, you would've run into him."

Two-Bit tried to reply but Soda kept throwing things at him left and right, and every time he did almost manage to get a word in, Sarah quieted him with a kiss. It was a real good time until the time between kisses got shorter and shorter until eventually Soda pushed me out of the booth and led me out of the diner.

"We'll let them pick up the tab," he said, grinning and grabbed my hand.

I smiled at the warm feeling it gave me. Our relationship wasn't anything official-like, and he'd only kissed me a couple of times since he first asked me out on our first date a month ago, but I wasn't complaining. Of course, I kind of did want it all to be official, to kiss him more deeply and for him to test his limits—not that there were many—but it may have just been Izzy's nagging getting to me.

You-hang-out-too-much-for-it-not-to-be-more-baby-sister.

I liked having one foot in the single realm and one foot in the relationship realm. Call me indecisive, I guess.

Soda pulled me down an alley suddenly and stopped five feet in, pulling me to him. I giggled before I could stop myself from sounding like a little girl. "What're you doing?"

"I had this urge," he started to say, but I interrupted him before he could finish explaining.

"I can't help you with that in an alleyway, you know."

His eyebrows shot up suggestively, making me blush in realization that that wasn't what he'd meant. He placed his finger under my chin and tilted it upwards, leaning in. "Yer cute when you get embarrassed an' all," he said, then kissed me.

My hands fisted at his t-shirt and I pressed my body into his, wanting the kiss to deepen when we suddenly broke apart at the sound of a gunshot.

We ran.

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_A/N: I realize that Soda isn't all over the place like I tend to see with a lot of writing, but I kind of like to think he feeds off of excitement, so the more people he's around, the more excitable he gets._

_Please review. I'd really appreciate some feedback on this story as I've never written this kind of story before. Feel free to tell me I screwed up. I'm pretty sure I can handle it. _


	3. Chapter Two

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.

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**Chapter Two**

Here's how it went:

Turn down this street and hear more screams. Turn down this alley, then stop and get pulled in the other direction as you see a body slumped on the ground out of the corner of your eye. Run like the devil is after you until you can't hear people running and police sirens in every which direction anymore.

That's how it went.

We were at Soda's house because it was closest. We'd stopped running about five streets after the commotion had quieted, but Soda didn't let go of my hand and I kept looking around nervously until we reached his house. I was shaking something awful.

Soda tugged on my hand as we reached the porch steps, beckoning me inside. He must have felt me shaking or hesitating or seen the look on my face or something because the corner of his mouth went up in a reassuring manner and he said, "Come on, it was just one little gunshot. Ain't that big of a deal."

I stopped mid-step. "What do you mean it ain't that big of a deal? Do you—" I paused, breathing heavily, but I wasn't sure if it was from all the running or because I was freaking out. Maybe both? "Do you realize somebody got shot? Because I saw a guy on the ground, not moving. Completely still! And you think it's not a big _deal_? Are you out of your mind, Sodapop Curtis?!"

"Look," he snapped, "we're safe, ain't we?" His face softened somewhat. "Now will ya come inside? Yer shakin' like a leaf."

I glared at him, but gave in, sighing as I followed him in. The TV was on, but low, and Sodapop dropped my hand to turn it up. His kid brother was sitting on the couch, hair wet and his feet up. I just stood in the doorway, letting its frame hold me up in all the excitement.

"Hey, the volume was low for a reason," someone called from the other room.

Ponyboy rolled his eyes. "I'm _fine_, Darry. Quit babyin' me. I got a little woozy is all."

Darry walked into the living room, water in hand, and gave it to Ponyboy. "You passed out, Pone. That's not _a little_ woozy."

Sodapop snapped his head in Ponyboy's direction. "Whaddaya mean you passed out?" I noticed he was shaking a little bit, too, still. Or, at least, his hands were. He was slapping his pockets, looking around the room for something, until finally his eyes settled on the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table next to Pony's feet before he turned back to Ponyboy, eyes wide.

Ponyboy opened his mouth, but Darry interrupted him. "Passed out at practice today. Coach said he ran four laps and then dropped like a sack of potatoes," he explained and walked back into the kitchen.

Soda walked over to the couch and sat on the arm, putting a hand to Pony's forehead to which Pony promptly swatted away. "I'm _fine_," he insisted and went to grab the pack of cigarettes.

Soda's eyes followed it, from the time Pony picked it up, to the time Pony put it down, and then they looked longingly as Pony took a few puffs to get it lit. His legs started bouncing and he shot up, pacing the room and running a hand through his hair.

Darry walked back out again, his face set, and yanked the cigarette out of Pony's mouth. "What don't you understand about the fact that you passed out today, kiddo?"

"It's not that big a deal!" Pony argued back, making Soda squeeze his eyes shut in what I could only assume was frustration.

"Will you both just shut up?!" he yelled, making me jump a little, and grabbed the cigarette from Darry's hand, taking a drag. He dug his palm into his eye, taking a deep breath and motioned his free hand at me. "Darry, I don't think you know Andy." His tone was resigned and frustrated, and it definitely portrayed how he looked like he was feeling at the moment

Both Ponyboy and Darry looked in my direction, immediately looking sheepish. Pony's ears were tinged with red, I noticed. "Sorry, Andy," Pony said, "I didn't see you there."

Darry eyed me wearily. "Nice to meet you …" he said slowly.

Ponyboy sat up and took his feet off their coffee table. "You wanna sit or something? You ain't lookin' too hot."

I nodded, making my way over to the couch next to him while Darry crossed his arms and followed Soda with his eyes as he made his way over to the couch as well. "One of you better start talking."

Soda plopped down on the couch, putting an arm around me as he took another drag, and explained. I was still thinking of that body. My mind was wandering, abusing my imagination and recreating a thousand different things about the last half hour, making colors more vivid and split seconds turn into minutes.

Darry was sitting now, rubbing his forehead. "Are you okay? Who were you with before?"

Soda moved forward, putting out the cigarette in a glass and grabbing another one. I settled back into him as he lit it. "We were with Two-Bit and his girl for a while over at that old diner off of Madison. You know, the one Mom and Dad used to take us to when we were little?"

"Yeah, I know it." Darry sighed and rubbed his forehead again. "Have you seen them since?"

Soda shook his head and tried to blow a smoke ring.

"Will you quit that?" Darry snapped. "Pony passed out 'cause he smokes so damn much, and here you are, smoking away, while your girlfriend looks like she's seen a ghost still."

You try being around a shooting, I thought, and see how chipper you look.

I barely noticed the girlfriend comment.

"Oh, back off, Dar. You try hearing shots again that close and not want to smoke a pack and a half." Soda was pissed. He shot up, running a nervous hand through his hair. "God, we saw the guy! We ran past and saw him slumped on the ground! I tried to turn Andy before she could see, but apparently she saw anyway, and you're concerned about cigarettes right now?!"

I buried my face into my hands. Soda had stormed out and was pacing back and forth on the porch, simply fuming, and Ponyboy was paler than I'd ever seen him. Granted, I had only met him a handful of times, but he was pale. And Darry … his jaw was clenched hard, a vein throbbing in his neck. So I buried my face into my hands to avoid looking at them.

Nobody really talked for a while. Darry got up to make some phone calls, I think—maybe the phone rang, who knows—and Ponyboy got up and went down the hall to his bedroom, I guess. And Soda just sat on the porch smoking cigarettes until he ran out. Eventually I headed out there as well and balanced myself on the railing.

"Hey," I said softly. He was sitting on the ground, leaning against the house with his wrists resting on his knees.

"Hey," he replied, not looking up. I looked down at my shoes and shivered a bit as the wind picked up. Soda held out his hand and looked up finally, beckoning me down to him.

I slid off the railing and sat down between his legs, letting my back rest against his chest, and his head rest on top of mine. We were silent. I don't know how long we sat in silence, but I know it was a long while.

I started thinking about what he meant by hearing shots again that close. The neighborhood was rough, but so was mine, and I hadn't heard gunshots at all since we'd moved into the apartment. All it was was a bunch of sirens, fights, cars driving along, and glass breaking. Our old house—before Mom left—was in a nicer area, but still, being as close as we were was something normal people read about or heard about, not experienced. Then again, as I'd been noticing since I'd met him, Soda wasn't all that normal.

Soda wrapped his arms around me and stretched weirdly. "Glory, but you're cold!"

I leaned farther back into him. "I'm alright," I said, and twisted, looking at him. "Are you okay? I'm not squishing you, am I?"

He shook his head and let his chin rest on my shoulder instead that time. "Yer thinkin' about something, I know it."

I placed my hands on his thighs and ran them back and forth for a few moments. "How do you know that?" I asked, leaning into his arm to look at him.

Soda turned his head and grinned slightly. "I can see the wheels turnin' in your head." He brushed my hair behind my ear.

I grinned a little in response, mulling what he said over. "Can you blame me?"

He still had that slight grin on his face. "Nope."

I kissed him. I wanted to ask him what he meant by saying he heard shots again that close, but instead I kissed him. I kissed him hard. I shifted so that I was facing him, and put my hands on the back of his neck while he pulled my closer as he rested his hands on the small of my back. It wasn't a sweet kiss like he'd been giving me since we'd started doing whatever it was that we were doing; it was long and deep, and what I'd been waiting for to happen for a while.

The screen door opened and slammed shut, and we pulled apart. Darry stood there, looking like he knew he should say something but couldn't figure out what to say, a thermos in hand. I wiped my mouth a little, a blush creeping onto my cheeks.

"I'm heading to work," he grunted, then cleared his throat. "There's, uh, plates in the oven for ya'll if you get hungry."

Soda started playing with my fingers. "Thanks, Darry," he said quietly, and we listened as Darry walked down the steps, over to his truck, and the get in. Two seconds later, the truck back fired, and I jumped, nearly having a heart attack over a stupid automobile.

I started shaking again, but tried to stop it. There was no use getting worked up over it. Things happened, right? Oh, but these things didn't. These things were meant to cause drama in movies and happen in westerns, not while I was kissing one of the most handsome boys I've seen since James Dean. And that was saying something considering he died when I was six.

"Hey, it's alright," Soda whispered.

I took a calming breath and melted into him. I wanted to ask him how he dealt with it whenever it happened last time, but instead I blurted, "I really like you, Sodapop Curtis."

Soda chuckled. "Yeah, I really dig you, too," he said and patted my leg. "C'mon, let's go on in. It's gettin' cold out, and the TV will keep you from jumpin' at the sound of cars backfiring."

I wrinkled my nose at him, making a face. "Har de har har."

He smirked and helped me up, leading me back into the house. "Hey, I'm gonna go check on Pony real quick, okay?"

I nodded and he headed off down the hall. "You think it'd be okay if I used your phone?" I called after him.

"Yeah," he hollered back, and then I heard a bedroom door open and close.

I almost didn't use it to call anyone. It was like it was taunting me, saying that the minute you start telling people, it'll become a reality, and you won't be able to wake up from the images that you saw.

I picked it up just to spite it, and dialed home. Izzy picked up.

_"Hello?" he answered, sounding rushed. _

"Izzy? It's Andy. Aren't you supposed to be leaving for work by now?"

_"No, I got a little bit before then."_

"Oh." I paused, twirling the cord around my fingers. I could hear Soda and Pony talking down the hall, but I couldn't make out their words. "Is Dad or Birdie home?"

_ "Andy, you know Dad works on Saturdays." _

I mentally scolded myself. "Right, right, I knew that."

_"Uh huh … Was there something you wanted?"_

"What about Birdie?"

_"What about him?"_

"Is he home?"

_"No. He walked out of his room and hopped into a friend's car not too long after you two left. Why?"_

My heart skipped, and I started thinking all sorts of bad things. "You don't think …" I stopped, not wanting to finish the thought or sentence. Did that guy have blond hair? I started imagining the worse. Birdie, shot up in an alleyway. Birdie, dead in a casket. Birdie …

_ "Think what?" I didn't answer. "Hey, what's with the worryin'? Are you high or something?"_

"No. I was just wonderin', is all." Boy, what a lie. Well, maybe not. I didn't know anymore.

_ "You know Birdie; he was probably hittin' on a girl somewhere."_

"Yeah, that's it," I said, trying to reassure myself. I wasn't about to tell Izzy about this afternoon until he confronted me about it. There would be loads of stories floating around the bars tonight about it, I was sure of that, and I'd wait until then.

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_Thanks to all those that reviewed and added this story to their alert! Please drop a review if you have the time as I really appreciate any and all feedback! _


	4. Chapter Three

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.

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**Chapter Three**

I was shaking along with the shockwaves from the gunshot. The walls were shaking, too, rippling violently like they were hard water, and dust was shaking off the roof, coming down on me like I was caught in a snowstorm of dust. There was a blue bird flying around my head, chirping at me, but I had no idea what it was trying to tell me. Then it pecked me, and I started walking away, but it kept pecking me, it's beak pinching at my skin, making me wince in pain. I swatted at it but ended up tripping myself instead, unable to stop myself from falling, right into the pool of blood suddenly at my feet.

Smack I went against the floor. I opened my eyes to see Birdie pop his head over the side of my bed and snort at my discomfort.

"Scare me to death, why don't you?" I hissed and grabbed his hand so that I could sit up. "Jesus, I thought you were _dead_, Birdie." I almost hugged him, but then I thought better of it. That would have been awkward. We didn't hug.

He let his grin fade away as he furrowed his brow. "Dead?" he asked slowly. "Why would you think I was dead?"

I swallowed hard, and shook my head ever so slightly, changing the subject. "Forget it. Where've you been? You smell like you've been rolling around in grass." I didn't want to explain it; I wanted to forget it. I was just glad all my paranoia turned out to be just paranoia.

He laughed. "You're worried about me being stoned? Jesus, I thought you'd passed out it's so early. Soda get you drunk?"

I gave him a look. "Do I look like I've been drinking?"

He shrugged and looked at the wall, a smirk creeping onto his face ever so subtly. "Dunno. I ran into Izzy and he said you were acting weird. Thought maybe those freaks you hang out with finally got you to take a trip with them."

I pushed him. "They ain't freaks."

"They're freaks. You're all freaks."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Just wait 'til you get to college, baby brother. You'll start doing and seeing things you never did before. Maybe you'll take a trip yourself."

He laughed. "You act like I've never taken LSD before."

I smacked him and ran my hands through my hair. He was seventeen for chrissakes! I sighed, shaking my head and letting it go. Birdie was gonna do what he was gonna do. It wasn't like he was a bad kid, and I couldn't exactly scold him for something I was okay being around. Just because I was scared of taking it didn't mean anyone else was. I mean, as much as the kid thought we were all out of it, he fell into a lot of what we did.

The only time he got jailed was for protesting. Yep. Protesting. It was right after Mom left, before we had to sell the house, and he'd decided he wanted to get out of the house for the day, get some fresh air. Somehow he ended up in a jail cell, shirtless, with a big peace sign painted on his chest and Beatles lyrics on his back. I mean, I thought he knew by then not to throw rocks. Something always gets broken.

I didn't ask questions, though. Just like I wasn't gonna ask about the LSD.

Birdie pushed me on my side, breaking me out of my thoughts. "Man, you really are a freak. What's got your panties in a twist?"

I avoided his eyes. "I don't want to talk about it." My hands were starting to shake, and I got this weird feeling. You know, the kind of feeling where you want to share, but even more of you doesn't, and you convince yourself that it's stupid even though you're about ready to cry.

He stood up, giving me a skeptical look. "Al_right_," he said and walked out, knocking his knuckles on the doorframe as he did so.

I took a deep breath and fell back onto my bed. This is crazy, I told myself. Birdie's fine. God, he's fine. It was someone else. That poor someone else. Oh God, I was going to crazy over this. And Soda … he said he'd been through this before. How did not go crazy?

I sat up and rubbed my face, putting it all to the back of my mind, before getting up and walking out into the living room. Birdie was sitting on the counter that divided the kitchen and living room, eating leftovers from last night, the radio playing "Revolution" in the background.

He looked at me for a brief moment, then went right back to eating. "So you saw Izzy tonight? I thought he was working."

He shrugged. "I stopped by the bar. I almost got a drink out of him when dad walked in, so I booked it out of there."

I shook my head at him, smiling, but not one hundred percent into it. I was too sluggish to smile, really. "You're lucky Dad didn't see you."

Birdie chuckled. "Boy, don't I know it," he said, and then stabbed at a few green beans with his fork, shoving them into his mouth.

Our dad is pretty clean cut and easy going, but man, the minute you step out of bounds on a repeat offense, it's like you're hell bound in a ski jacket. You start sweatin' somethin' fierce and all you can do is obey the guy. At least, that's how it works for me. Izzy just stands there with his arms crossed and takes it when he does screw up, which isn't often these days, and Birdie is usually too smashed to react all that much, which gets nerve wracking because sometimes Dad throws things and Birdie's reaction time is way too slow for his own good.

I turned around and leaned against the counter myself, resting my hands on it, my elbows bent. I was kind of glad that Dad was out at a bar. He never went out anymore; he was always working or sitting at home. Occasionally we ended up over at a friend of his house for dinner, but aside from that, he didn't go out nearly as much as he used to. He picked up more hours at the store last month so he wouldn't have to have the shame of asking Izzy to help out with bills along with his share on the rent.

Birdie hopped off the counter and walked around me into the kitchen. The dishes made a big clanking sound just as the water turned on. "Seriously, what's with you tonight?"

I felt my shoulders tense. "It ain't nothin'. I told you, just forget it."

He flicked water at the back of my head. "You're actin' like someone died."

"Maybe someone did," I muttered and turned to face him, leaning on the counter.

He scrubbed his dirty dish and then rinsed it off, setting it to the side without bothering to dry it. He turned to me. "I don't even know why I care so much, but where were you today? Seriously, what were you doing? I don't know when the last time I saw you like this was."

"I was down by Madison Ave with Soda."

His eyebrows shot up under his bangs. "No shit?"

I nodded. "No shit."

"Aw, shit, Andy, I didn't know you were downtown. I thought you were just with Soda all day like Izzy said." He ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck."

I rubbed my face and sniffed. "So you know about the shooting, then?" If you wanted to know the truth, I was starting to bawl.

"Hey, look, don't cry. The guy had it coming to him from what I hear. One of Shepard's boys was doing a drug deal with the guy and the guy pushed him when he didn't have what the guy wanted. So the guy got himself shot instead of getting drugs like he wanted."

I walked over to the couch and sat down. "Yeah, but I saw him. I saw the blood."

Birdie sat down next to me. "It was just gang stuff, it's not that big a deal." If he was trying to comfort me, it wasn't working.

"Oh, climb it, Tarzan. I _saw_ him lying there dead. That's not like seeing a fist fight." I dug my palms into my eyes. "God, I want the image out already!"

Birdie made a sound like he was going to say something, but stopped as the door opened and in walked Dad. We both tensed. "Hey, Dad," Birdie greeted.

I pulled my knees to my chest and rested my feet on the edge of the couch, holding onto my ankles with my hands. Dad walked over to us, kissed my head, and patted Birdie's shoulder. "You kids have a good night?" he asked and started walking towards his bathroom, loosening his tie as he did so.

"Yeah," Birdie replied. I didn't even bother to nod; Dad was already behind closed doors.

I looked at Birdie, my eyes narrowed. "Don't mention this to Dad."

"But—"

"Just don't, okay?"

Birdie nodded and I wiped my eyes. We sat in silence for a long time, just listening to the static that had become the radio, barely noticing as Dad came out and barely noticed us himself as he stretched out on the chair in the corner.

"You feel like hitting the drag strips tomorrow night?" Birdie asked suddenly.

"I'm already going," I told him. It was true. Soda had asked me yesterday if I wanted to go. I was visiting him at work when he grabbed me around the waist and asked if I had any plans. I had told him no, and he had said, "Good, 'cause after work on Sunday I'm taking you to the strip." And that was that.

I started thinking about Soda again. About what he said. I almost considered asking Birdie about what Soda meant by it, but thought better of it. If I was going to find out, I was going to find out from Soda; I wasn't about to go around asking everyone but him. Besides, I was pretty sure I knew Soda better than Birdie did at this point. When he'd introduced us, they hadn't been good friends. They got along, but it wasn't like they hung out on purpose.

Birdie wouldn't know. We weren't from this side of town originally. Birdie and I went to a different school than Soda, hung out with different people up until last year. Birdie got around, but I doubt he knew, and I was too hesitant to ask him anyway. Soda … Soda had seen someone shot? He'd seen what was replaying in my head every five minutes before?

It was just … I don't even know what it was.

I was starting to obsess over it, and the only reason I wasn't stopping myself was because it made me forget about the new image engraved in my brain. The shooting I could get over, the image I could not.

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